Lycanthropy
by Alsike
Summary: Love is a disease, a disease that makes you want to kill.
1. Chapter 1

_It was a disease, people said, blowing through towns, bubbling up in the waters, touching you and changing you, inside. No one was quite sure what the carriers could be, ticks, mosquitoes, mouse droppings, animal bites, but some people were affected, and some escaped unharmed._

_The statisticians say that around twelve percent of the population has been exposed to the disease, more in urban areas. It's a time bomb, the doctors say, existing undetected, unsuspected, and then one day the cells are triggered._

_It's a bit like encephalitis, or a head injury: nausea and vomiting, hallucinations, night sweats, paranoia, rage. It's called Sinclair's Disease, for the first subject of study. The tabloids call it lycanthropy._

xXx

Even with all of her planning, research and training, Emily had never even imagined that as a guidance counselor she would have to deal with this.

"You were masturbating in class?"

The round-faced freckled boy gave her a half ashamed look. "I'm really sorry, Ms Prentiss." His face was red and Emily pitied him a little. "I couldn't help it."

"You need to be able to control yourself. Everyone gets… aroused, sometimes, but that's no excuse."

Jay blinked at her curiously. "_You_ do too?"

Emily blinked. "What?"

"I heard it wasn't the same for girls."

Emily supposed she would have to appreciate being called a girl. "It's… pretty much the same. Just the physical, uh, reactions are a little less obvious." She really wished she hadn't said that. Jay was giving her a rather guarded considering look.

He pursed his lips. "I really don't think it was my fault. It was just after _history_."

"Um," Emily said. "Does history…" she really didn't want to say the words that had popped into her mind. 'Excite you' was somehow the worst. "Affect you?" she tried instead.

"Ms Frost moved me to the front because I was talking. And we were writing essays. And she bent down to check my work, and…" he sighed, and pressed his palm into the crotch of his pants, trying to hold down the reaction.

Well, he was a healthy young heterosexual boy, Emily thought. She hadn't met Ms Frost yet, although she had made her schedule and sent her a copy of her introductory note. But it was a big school. There were quite a few teachers she hadn't met yet. Still, she had heard a few comments made about her in the teacher's lounge, mostly tasteless remarks by some of the older male teachers.

"She was wearing a _red bra_."

Emily blinked. "I… see."

"It was _so_ hot!" Jay was on a roll now. "I could barely wait until Ms Grey's class!"

"Wait." Emily was confused. "You waited until the next class?"

Jay seemed surprised by the question. "Of course, I couldn't get it up with _Ms Frost_ watching me."

"Oh," said Emily, completely bewildered by the idea of a woman who could inspire both arousal and impotence at the same time. "You shouldn't really do it with _anyone_ watching you. Try to get a bathroom pass next time."

"Okay," said Jay, pleased by the response. "I'll do that. Thanks, Ms Prentiss. Is that all?"

Emily looked at him. What had she just said? "Yeah," she covered. "Go back to class."

Jay left and Emily cringed. Had she actually told him to go jack off in the bathroom? Christ, she really did suck at this job.

xXx

Fucking kids. Emma wrung her hand and then squeezed pensively at the bite. She had chosen middle school so the brats wouldn't be as likely to savage her with their teeth. She'd have to disinfect it soon. Bites _always_ got infected.

Oh well, at least she could tell Peter about it. He'd be entertained.

xXx

Emily peeked her head out of her office and caught the attention of the administrative secretary. "Hey," she said. Miss Hartley eyed her stiffly over the rims of her glasses.

"Ms Prentiss."

Secretaries always made her nervous. Emily swallowed. "Um, you've met Ms Frost, right? The history teacher?"

"_Yes_, Ms Prentiss." She managed to not make it sound very insulting.

"Would you say…" Emily cringed. "Would you say she dresses appropriately for the classroom?"

Miss Hartley arched an eyebrow. "Do you believe I would say otherwise?"

"Um." Emily considered this response. "Probably not. Have there ever been comments to… that effect, though?"

The secretary gave her a long disapproving look. "Never by any of the fathers."

Oh. Miss Hartley had turned back to her computer, and it was clear that the interview was over. Emily slipped back into her office. She was probably going to have to make an effort to meet this Ms Frost. She wasn't at all sure whether that was a good idea.

Basically, the data wasn't good. Ms Frost's file was stuffed full of all sorts of contradictory reports, some official complaints about her outfits or using her sexuality to get her way, but the authors all sounded a bit shrill and overwrought. Others were letters surprisingly rich with praise, parents and students thanking her for her work, which led to educational success, or just survival through difficult periods. Emily found her eyes wet after a particularly heartfelt one that described how Ms Frost had helped a boy after the death of his father when he was about to fail her class. She had come to his house, it seemed, talked him through his homework, and got him back on track, emotionally as well as academically. Emily felt a little threatened by this. It was good that she was so helpful, but she was a history teacher. The counseling was supposed to be Emily's job.

Emily decided to wander into the teacher's lounge during the first lunch and make her inquiries in person. She also needed more coffee for her meds. Kitty, one of the teacher's assistants, still completing her degree, gave her a tense unhappy look on hearing her question. "Ms Frost, she's… You know I was assigned to her first, right? She's an excellent teacher, just, we don't really see eye to eye on a lot of things."

That was unhelpfully noncommittal. "Thanks," Emily said anyways.

"You want to know about Emma?" Mr. Shaw, the economics teacher, sidled up to her and smiled in a discomfiting manner. Her skin bristled as he came near, and she had to breathe deeply to calm herself down.

"Emma?" Emily blinked, and then recalled the first name included in the files. "You mean Ms Frost?"

Mr. Shaw gave her a repulsively appraising look from her shoes to her neck, pausing on her breasts for a few moments too long. She didn't snarl at him, though it was a close one. "You really should… make her acquaintance." He flashed a toothy insincere smile. "You'd _appreciate_ her."

Emily frowned.

Mr. Summers, the shop teacher, turned towards them, scowling. "She's a slut," he snapped. "I'd stay away from her if I were you," he told Emily, and narrowed his eyes in Mr. Shaw's direction. "Not that he's any better." He frowned then and looked at Emily with a little more intensity than she was comfortable with. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to show just how the way he smelled revolted her. "Have there been complaints? Are you trying to get her fired?" He actually smiled at that. Emily nearly gaped. That hadn't even crossed her mind. "I wouldn't trust her with students. I could tell you things…" He shook his head, and slipped away, leaving Emily unnerved and puzzled. She wasn't about to assume that Ms Frost would even consider crossing a line with a student, not based on rumor and dislike, although after the incident with Jay, Emily doubted that anyone would turn her down if asked.

She went for the coffee machine, intending on bringing her mug back to her office. Not being a teacher, she found being in the teacher's lounge slightly awkward, and being around so many people in rooms that smelled strongly of them made her tense. The pot was empty and she put on a new one, leaning impatiently against the counter, waiting for it to start to drip. The bell rang and the lunching teachers filed out, grumbling. Eventually the pot was nearly full and Emily poured out quickly, only missing the last few drops, which hit the heating ring with a sizzle and a burst of steam.

"So you're the one who's been asking nosy questions about me."

Emily turned too quickly, in surprise, and saw the woman standing behind her. Well, she saw her breasts as they were nearly at eyelevel for her, and visible, since the crisp white shirt the woman was wearing only started to button below her rather impressive cleavage. She couldn't look away. She took in the four-inch heels, the perfectly styled French twist, the one escaped strand of hair falling over her face. It was so utterly wrong, that hair, and Emily knew this, and panicked. There was an ugly twist of pain through her limbs, hot needles jabbing into her palms and through the marrow of her bones.

And that was when her coffee sloshed in a predestined arc out of the pot towards the white shirt. Ms Frost leapt back, but too late. The dark liquid soaked into the crisp linen, spattered over her chest and burnt the skin underneath. She cursed loudly, snatching up a napkin and pulling out her shirt to get at the coffee. "Fuck! _You_! You stupid klutz!"

There was something uncomfortably high about her tone and she kept glancing from her shirt to Emily's horrified and mortified expression and back, eyes wide and panicked. She was bristling like a cat that had just had a bucket of water dumped over it. Emily desperately tried to think of something to help, and to tear her eyes away from where the coffee was making her shirt cling to her breasts and stomach.

The pot hit the carpet with a thump, and Emily lurched forward attempting to add another napkin. Emma jerked back, scowling. "Don't come near me!"

"What? I'm sorry! I didn't-"

"Sorry for assaulting me with coffee or for trying to destroy my reputation?"

An unexpected flame of anger rose through Emily, making her face hot and her nails cut into her palms. "What is your problem?" She hissed. "I'm just doing my job."

"Your _job_ is to elicit slander and gossip from my enemies, and tell me I'm inappropriate? Fuck you."

"You think pushing your breasts in my face and flouncing around in those fuck-me heels are going to make me think the rumors are lies?"

Ms Frost slapped her, a harsh crack across the face, and Emily was stunned into stillness. Emma spun and strode out of the room, and Emily had one momentary impression of how confidently she moved in those impossible heels and the way the pencil skirt hugged the curves of her ass before she came back to herself and drooped, still stunned. She leaned weakly against the counter and stared down at her bloody palms.

"What was _that_?"

xXx

This was bad; this was very bad indeed. Emma hurriedly stripped out of her ruined shirt and pressed the dry bits against the stinging red burns. What _was_ that? How could she have been so angry, so out of control? It was clear that the woman was some sort of vigilante, and prudish besides, trying to criticize her clothes, accusing her of coming onto her.

Scott had done the same thing, made assumptions, thought far too highly of himself, and when she finally made it clear to him that no, she wasn't interested at _all_, he had attempted to wreck her reputation entirely. The counselor back then hadn't been an idiot who agreed with everything Scott said, and she had survived it, though Scott still grumbled. He was mainly jealous of Seb, she thought. Emma had slept with him once during her first year, before she had met Peter, and although it had probably been a mistake at least he never actively tried to use it against her.

She pulled her spare shirt over her head and glanced at herself in the small mirror. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't coffee-colored at least, and Peter was forgiving. All she had to do was survive three more classes and running a Model UN session, and then she could have her Friday night off and have _sex_.

She really, really wanted sex right now. Arguing often made her hot, but she was particularly turned on after _that_. She had wanted to hurt that woman, more than just slapping her, throw her against the wall, dig her fingers into her arms and push her down until she cringed in panicked submission. But then the nosy counselor _would _have a good argument for firing her, and Emma was not willing to give her the upper hand. She called Emma a whore, and Emma slapped her and walked away, like a sane person. One point to her. The woman had_ looked_ though, and riding down on her face would have been more than a moral victory. Emma frowned, reapplying her lipgloss. She really needed this day to be over soon. _Really_.

xXx

Emily shook the Epipen. Fuck. She never used them and the one day she needed to she was out of meds. She leaned her head on her desk, gripping the surface with her nails, and wishing the horrible sick feeling in her stomach would go away. When she looked up there were four tiny splintered grooves in the desk.

Shit.

She threw her oxfords off and dug her running shoes out of the bottom drawer of the desk. Maybe it was skipping out of work early, but it was better than the alternative. She laced up and stripped off her jacket. She needed to get out of here.

She tore through the halls and hit the sidewalk in seconds, and then she just ran. She ran until her heart was only pounding from the exertion, until the sweat was from the heat, and the nausea was entirely dehydration.

She didn't notice the blonde teacher glancing toward the window and stopping in mid-sentence at the sight of her fleeing like the hounds of hell were chasing after.

When Emily could touch herself with her fingernails and not have blood well up instantly she stopped and asked where she was at the nearest gas station. Then she asked for the nearest bus stop since she had ended up ten miles away from the school.

xXx

Peter smiled at her as they reached her door. The band of metal was hot and present on her finger, and Emma was still riding the effects of her earlier confrontation. She caught Peter's tie and tugged him forward by it. "You're coming inside tonight. You don't have a choice in the matter."

"You really think I'd say no?"

Emma grinned and kissed him, enjoying the hard press of his mouth. He didn't believe in tongue on the sidewalk. It was… refreshing. It didn't stop her from groping him through his pants. He protested and she laughed, unlocking the door.

"You want a drink?" she offered.

"Coffee?" Emma cringed; the splash was a little too recent. "Okay, rum and hot orange juice?" Peter tried again.

"I can do that. Now go get naked and lie on the bed. I'm not in the mood to wait around." She gave him a grin with a bit more tooth in it than usual, and Peter blinked.

"You _are_ in a mood." He disappeared down the hall.

Emma made his drink and a shot of vodka for herself, hoping that she could relax a little, and not scare him with how much she wanted this. Still, he'd assume it was the engagement, and it was, mostly, that and the moonlight shining through the windows, and the fact that her underwear had been soaked since lunchtime. She stripped down, pulling a chemise over her head, and taking some of the pins out of her hair. She brought his drink into the bedroom.

Peter was naked, lounging on the mass of pillows, hands behind his head. He took the drink and took a sip, making a pleased sound. "Mmm, better than coffee."

"I couldn't make it," Emma explained. "After being drenched in it today, sacrificing to the gods of the bean was a bit much."

"Drenched in it?" Peter laughed. "You didn't tell me about this."

She hadn't. She hadn't wanted to for some reason. "I startled the new counselor and she spilt hers all over my clean shirt. It was most unpleasant."

She smiled though, moving onto the bed, kneeling over him, and bending down to pass her tongue over his nipple. He shivered a little and set his drink down. She nipped at his jawline and he moved his hands, soft pale scientist hands, over her back and around the curve of her ass. His interest was making itself visible. He stroked his fingers between her legs and made a little noise of surprise at how wet she was, and then picked up the condom from the side table, unwrapped it, and passed it to her. She licked a long stroke across her palm and touched herself with it. She gave him a few strokes with her wetness before rolling on the condom.

This wasn't really what she wanted tonight. She felt too tense and riled up for an easy fuck with her on top. But Peter wasn't the sort to take control, and if she started a fight he'd apologize, not fuck her against the wall. She moved over him, teasing, but not letting him touch her.

"Hey!" he complained easily.

"Shush!" She raked her fingernails over his chest. "You're mine now, so you do what I say. Fingers."

Obediently he slid two fingers inside her and started fucking her with them. She purred a little and nuzzled his neck. For a moment she imagined them thinner, with longer nails, and the body under her shaking, smooth and pale, the new counselor truly submitting to her, against her will, biting down on her lower lip to not cry out, squinching her eyes shut, and soaking from the shame. That thought turned her on, and she clasped the base of Peter's cock, letting him slip out and catch her hip with wet fingers, and then she lowered herself onto it, settling onto her hands and knees and pinning his arms down. Her hair was loose and falling over her face and she swallowed, a little artfully, enjoying how he whimpered at it.

"Emma," he said, his voice soft. He tried to move his arms, take hold of her, but she pinned him more tightly. He wriggled his hips pathetically.

"No." She leaned down and licked up his face. "I want you to beg."

"Pweeese." She traced a fingernail down his throat and circled it on his chest. Then she flicked his nipples. He gasped a little. "Please?" he finally tried, more seriously, and Emma deigned to start fucking him.

It wasn't enough. When he noticed she hadn't come even after riding him until he was limp, he buried his face in her pussy. Eventually, she faked it. She didn't usually _have_ this problem. If anything she was easy. But there was something different about tonight, maybe the moonlight shining on the bed while Peter snored next to her, something that made her itch and open, want to spread her knees and push her hips up, letting in whoever came for her, want to hurt, hurt her lover and be hurt herself.

Peter couldn't do that, and she didn't want to make him, so she spread her legs and traced her fingers along her inner thigh, and as she touched herself, she dug deep scratches into her shoulder and neck with her fingernails. Finally she came, and finally she could sleep.

xXx

Emily woke up, sweaty and aching, and looked at her palms. She had made such tight fists in the dream that she had dug bloody half moons into her hands with her nails. They hurt. It had been an awful dream though, a woman, _her_ woman, as she had somehow known in the dream, sliding down some man's cock, biting at his neck and collarbone, making little sounds as she thrust herself onto his stiff prick, moaning and grinding into him as if she got points for showmanship, and Emily had wanted to tear his throat out.

She felt disgusting, stinking of sweat, her thighs sticky. She thought she had even drooled or something and that was why her face felt sore when she tried to move it from the pillow. She dragged herself out of bed, unable to sleep in the sweaty sheets, and into the shower. Her fingers strayed between her legs, mainly for cleaning purposes, and then stayed, as she leaned back against the shower wall. If that woman had been riding _her_… her hair mussed and falling in her face, the swell of her breasts half popping out of that scrap of cloth she was wearing, holding Emily down, leaving bite marks as she moved up her body. Emily pushed her fingers harder into herself, nearing the edge. The woman would leave a last bite on her throat, and look up at her… with Ms Frost's cool challenging glare.

Emily instantly spun the shower to ice cold and nearly leapt out when it started freezing. She forced herself to stay in for a few moments, trying to wash the uncomfortable fantasy off her skin, and then retreated quietly to the living room where she spent a sleepless night on the couch with a book instead.


	2. Chapter 2

2

The one good thing about being an Ambassador's daughter was that she could get a doctor's appointment on a Saturday. Doctor McCoy looked worried at her description of the scene in the teacher's lounge and her explanation of how angry she had gotten. She didn't tell him about the dreams. He gave her a prescription for more Epipens and a few he had on hand, just in case. He told her how proud of her he was for the way she had dealt with the reaction. Running was an excellent way to divert and channel one's energy. But as comforting as he tried to be, Emily could smell the fear on him, and it made her sick to her stomach.

"So you made it back from your run," Miss Hartley said, barely glancing at her and showing no interest.

"Yeah," said Emily. She had come back in afterwards, but it had been after three, and the secretary was already gone. Normally she would feel guilty and try to defend herself, but Dr McCoy had upped her meds, and she just felt tired and depressed.

"You met Ms Frost." It wasn't a question.

"Does she usually make that… strong of a first impression?"

Miss Hartley eyed her over her glasses. "I doubt a splash of scalding coffee is the way most people say hello. Your encounter was rather singular on both sides."

"Encounter?" Emily muttered to herself grimly. That made her think of woods for some reason, speckled light, and quick rough sex against a tree. She suppressed the thought immediately and the memory of the dream from the previous night. "She was so angry. I didn't… I was just trying to find out-"

"If she dressed like a slut?"

Emily stiffened, suddenly angry. The back of her neck prickled. "What? Don't you-"

"You didn't go to her. You didn't ask. You objectified."

"She really doesn't look like the sort to mind a little objectification!"

Miss Hartley just gave her a cool look, and Emily cringed.

"It's always lovely to know what you think of me, Ms Prentiss," came a voice from behind her. "But Miss Lee and I require you to do some actual work."

Emily turned around slowly, begging the drugs to kick in and not let her savage the woman right there. Ms Frost was clearly tensed, ready for an attack. "No onslaught of coffee this time?"

Emily swallowed hard. It wasn't as bad as she had expected. The meds were holding the reins on her anger, and the woman didn't deserve it. She hadn't deserved that last comment either. "I'm… I'm really sorry about that," Emily said softly. She looked down and then away, not liking the way her skin prickled when she looked at the high heeled boots that cupped Ms Frost's calves and made the lines of her feet and ankles sleek and military. She shifted uncomfortably. Miss Lee, a tiny Asian girl in a yellow raincoat and ragged jeans decorated with marker, was watching them both, a rather amused expression on her face. It probably wasn't a good idea to let the students become too aware of their elders' failings.

"As if that's all you have to apologize for," Ms Frost sniffed, and Emily decided to take it as 'apology accepted.'

"What do you need me to do?"

Ms Frost put her hand on the girl's shoulder and pushed her forward. "Miss Lee isn't finding her schedule challenging enough."

The girl scowled petulantly. Emily smiled. "Okay, come in and we'll see what we can do."

Having Ms Frost in her office was a trial of a new order. Miss Lee looked around with interest, but seemed generally pleased. Ms Frost was slower and more considering. Emily swallowed hard and maneuvered around so she could leave the door open. In that tiny room the scent would quickly become unbearable. She logged into the scheduling program and pulled up Lee, Jubilation on the screen.

Ms Frost settled into the chair, Jubilee swinging her feet uncomfortably, and then, with Emily's first question, everything just shifted and it was suddenly fine.

"You're in AP History, I see. Is that going okay?"

"It's fine," Jubilee said, rolling her eyes. "But my teacher's a bit of a bitch."

Emma cuffed her head and Jubilee ducked, grinning. Emily's cheeks felt hot. Of course that was Ms Frost's class.

"It's my other classes that she thinks are the problem. I think they're just boring, but she says they wouldn't be as boring if they were 'in the least difficult.'" Jubilee mocked her teacher's accent.

So they went through her schedule, class by class, and each time Jubilee said she wasn't good at Math or Science or Language, Ms Frost reminded her of something she had said, boasting or gossiping that belied her assertion, and proved that she could do fine.

Emily had to repress her laughter at the awkward look Jubilee had on her face when her teacher reminded her of the time she had been boasting about getting paid to do an older boy's homework for him, and how he had been caught for cheating because the paper was too good to pass off as his.

Moaning over her new friendless schedule Jubilee slipped out, but Ms Frost stayed for a moment. Emily's eyes ran over her, alone again and with moving air the scent was stronger, although her only reaction was an uncomfortable quiver in her belly. "Your heels aren't as high today."

Ms Frost shot her a dark look. "I'm afraid you caught me on a day where I had a date scheduled, Ms Prentiss." She frowned. "With your coffee throwing you could have forced me to cancel. Luckily I'm prepared for _accidents_." She clearly didn't believe it was an accident.

The tension radiating through her made Emily spit out a response. "_You_ were the one who startled me."

"I'll send you the cleaning bill."

It was only then that Emily noticed the band on her finger, and the rock that surmounted it. It sent a shock through her, as bad as the first time, and just as absurd and illogical a reaction. She nodded toward it roughly. "Doesn't look like you need the cash."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "You're _lucky_ you didn't make me miss that date. If I had had to stand him up for his proposal, you would have suffered for it."

"Oh? You're engaged?" Emily sneered. "I thought it was a present from your john."

Emily cringed at the venom coming out of her mouth. She really hadn't meant to go that far. Ms Frost looked furious and Emily braced herself for another slap.

"I'm sorry," said Emma, an odd snide smile crossing her face. "Were you saving your pennies so you could afford _this_." She indicated herself with a long sweep of her hand. "I'm afraid it's off the market."

Emily had a sudden impulsive thought. She could drop to her knees right there and beg Emma to use her mouth to get herself off. She would shove up her skirt, cup the heels of her boots, and press her face into warm heat, tongue fuck her until she was clinging to the edge of the desk, desperate to come, her chest heaving, her perfect hair ruined by sweat and motion, and falling in her face.

But before it could be anything more than an impulse, the door was closing behind Ms Frost and Emily was alone in her office, surrounded by nothing more than the teasing of a lingering scent.

xXx

It was _not_ a good day for any of Emma's classes. The moment her after-school clubs ended she called Peter. "Dinner? Tonight? Half-an-hour?"

He laughed. "Can we make it an hour? I'm a bit covered in algae still."

"Are you playing with green goo?" Emma snorted. "Fine, an hour. I need a shower as well."

She took the edge off in the shower, but she didn't put on underwear when she got dressed.

xXx

"I can't _believe_ myself. I'm not rude. I don't usually accuse people of being whores, do I?"

Penelope Garcia, software designer and technology blogger, blinked and took another sip of her martini. "No, that's me."

JJ Jareau, kindergarten teacher, nodded.

"Or cover them with coffee?"

"Well, that's more like you," said JJ. "But not the whores. Not unless it's a friend of your mother's."

Emily gave a little groan and fiddled with her Epipen. "When she left today I wanted to just jab myself until I passed out. I don't _like_ this, feeling all out of control." She sighed and tapped the cap with her thumb. "I'm scared. The drugs are helping, but I'm so afraid it's just getting worse."

"You could just ask her out," suggested Garcia.

"What?" Emily blinked and looked skittish. JJ threw Garcia a rather shocked look.

"You sound like an eight year old boy in a sandbox. I know what your doctor told you, but it always seemed pretty idiotic to me. If you hold it all down it's going to come out in a rush eventually, and maybe that's all this is. You need to get laid _sometime_. Repression just makes it worse."

"Fabulous advice, love guru," JJ snapped. "This woman sounds like a bitch who makes Emily unhappy, _violently_ unhappy, and you're setting them up now?"

"Oh come on," Penelope said with a grin. "Tell me there's not some attraction there."

Emily grimaced, trying not to think of the thoughts that had been plaguing her. She couldn't deny it. "She's engaged," she tried. "Even if I were… it couldn't happen."

"Too bad. I hoped you were finally showing interest in someone. Maybe we could locate a good no strings hookup, to get the edge off?"

Both Emily and JJ fixed her with a disapproving glare. "You_ know_ she's not supposed to let go like that," JJ snapped.

"It wasn't just attraction," Emily tried to explain. "I can deal with that. It really made me start to feel sick. It was like…"

"Electricity?" Garcia tried hopefully. "Magnetism? Lust?"

"She _doesn't_ dress appropriately for school! Her breasts are like…" Emily cupped the air before her brassiere. "And her shirts pretend to be all modest, but she leans over and the sides part, and _cleavage,_ and her skirts are so tight and her _heels_… Oh my god." Emily stared. "She's right over there."

Garcia and JJ looked.

"Oh god, don't look." Emily tried to cover her face.

"The blonde one? She looks sort of cold to me," JJ said. "The guy she's with is pretty gorgeous though."

"Do you have a librarian fetish, Emily?" asked Garcia, amusement in her voice. "She has glasses like mine."

"Glasses?" Emily couldn't help turning to see, but instead saw something she very much did not want to see. "Oh my god, she's coming over here."

"Hello, Ms Prentiss."

Emily looked up. The glasses were incredibly distracting, as was the slight flush of wine in her cheeks, and the strong scent of perfume that could not totally mask the lingering arousal on her skin. "Hi… Emma."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Now you're not even giving me a courtesy title, after I did so for you?"

Emily's eyes widened. She was looking for a fight. The scents grew stronger and more distracting. "What? We're not at work. Why did you even come over here?" she snapped.

Emma tensed, her face twisting into a scowl. "So you want me to ignore you? Would that make your little quest to get me fired weigh less on your conscience?"

"Is your pathological need to believe I want you fired some sort of sign that you deserve it?"

"You _wish_. Just like you wish you could get rid of me, pipsqueak."

"Pipsqueak? I'm older than you!"

"Then you should know better than to judge me by your prudish desperately single morality."

"I'm not a prude," Emily tried to say. It came out more as a growl.

Emma's face was clearly flushed now and she leaned forward over the table, taking off her glasses, a few loose strands of hair curling like Medusa's snakes. "Then _prove_ it," she growled back, then whirled and stalked away, stiff as an offended cat, quickly slipping her arm into that of a handsome pleasant-looking man who glanced back at their table with a worried expression on his face before letting Emma drag him out of the restaurant.

Hot fury raced through her, and Emily wanted to savage him, go after her, _keep_ her. She jumped up, ready to lunge after her, but both her friends grabbed her and dragged her back down into her seat.

"Let go! Let go!" She fought them, tearing at them with nails that were more like claws, and knocking over one of the glasses in a wild swing. It shattered, Emily froze, and JJ took the opportunity to stick her with the Epipen.

"Shit!" Emily stared at her tiny wound and then back at her betrayer of a friend. "You didn't have to. I wasn't _that _out of it." She looked at the wrecked table and couldn't deny the lie in her words. She dropped her head into her hands, and jerked up as her own fingers cut her forehead. "Fuck." She wiped the blood off on her napkin. "This is bad, isn't it?"

"We should go now." Garcia patted her back and guided her towards the door. The drugs started to kick in before they reached the exit, and Emily's fingers unbent as her heart rate slowed. By the time they made it to JJ's car, Emily was barely standing on her own. She leaned against the vehicle, her head foggy, and drowsy with the sedatives.

"I like her," Emily mumbled, half to the Volvo.

"We know, honey," Garcia said, helping her into the car. "I think she's into you too."

"Really?" Emily perked up for a moment and let JJ fasten her seatbelt.

"Are you really trying to get her fired?" JJ asked, curious.

"No!" Emily leaned against the inside of the closed door, letting her eyes drift shut. "She's a really incredible teacher. Today she came into my office and made this lazy troublemaker want to push herself. She can outwit her students and trick them into proving that they're smarter than they think they are."

Penelope raised an eyebrow, glancing over at JJ. "Why don't you tell _her_ that?"

"Tell her?"

"She might not get horribly pissed at you if you do."

"But it would be _so_ embarrassing!"

Garcia snorted, and JJ shook her head. But Emily didn't notice. She was asleep.

xXx

Emma didn't let Peter start the car. She fucked him in the parking lot and managed to shred the upholstery of the headrest. It almost made her feel better.

xXx

"Someone spike your drink last night?" Miss Hartley asked, unamused.

Emily was also unamused, being more hung-over than she had been since college. Muscle relaxant and alcohol was a bad combination. "My arm," she muttered to herself, still irritated with JJ's quick action. "Something like that," she replied audibly.

"You're on cafeteria duty today," Miss Hartley told her, as if that wasn't the worst news of the century.

After too many fights breaking out during lunch periods, the administration had decided that the students were too confident in their superior numbers, and teachers and other staff had been assigned to be guardians of lunch on a rotating schedule.

The plan didn't always work to calm the raging beasts. Today, with Emily's horrible headache and nauseated stomach, exacerbated by the smell of cafeteria, they lost the war, and a flying sandwich hit her in the head.

Tuesdays always sucked, but this was excessive. As soon as the bell rang she escaped to the nearest faculty bathroom and pressed a cold paper towel to her face, trying to make the headache go away. She heard the door open behind her and oddly, the vile odor of toilets diminished, covered by a different sweeter scent.

"You have peanut butter in your hair," said Ms Frost, stiffly.

Emily cringed and didn't look at her. She checked in the mirror but couldn't find it. Suddenly Emma was behind her, touching her hair. She located the offending foodstuff and brought it around so Emily could see. Emily put her damp paper towel to use. As she let go to allow Emily to take over, Emma's hand brushed against the skin of her neck, and Emma jumped back as if burned. Emily jerked forward. It had felt like a hot poker, or a brand. She ended up bent awkwardly over the sink.

"Oh my god! Lose the static electricity!"

"It's not me!" Emily spat back. But it _was_ her, and she swallowed her next comment. She braced against the porcelain and groaned, hanging her head. "This is not normal."

"And you think it's my fault?"

Emily scowled, turning towards her and then wishing she hadn't at the wave of pins and needles that swept her body. "Why would you say that? Why do you always think that I'm insulting you?"

"I'm pretty sure that calling me a whore doesn't leave much opportunity for misinterpretation!"

"As if I'm the first to ever say something like that!"

"Do you think that means I take it lightly?"

Emily swallowed hard and wished that feeling guilty didn't make her even more angry. "No," she said, quietly and stiffly. Her hands were stinging. Her face was hot and painful like it was sunburnt, and her breath was coming in short pants. But she kept her mouth shut. That was probably the only way to not offend her."

Emma pressed her fingers to her forehead and then pulled them back quickly, grimacing at the thin layer of sweat that coated them. She wrinkled her nose as if she felt ill as well. "It's the same for you, isn't it? The tension?"

"Worse probably. I don't usually say things like that. I don't mean them. Well, ten minutes later I don't mean them."

Emma ignored her rambling. "I think I have a way to stop it."

There was no way that she did; no way that she even knew what was going on. But Emily lit up with hope anyway. "You do? I would love to… feel sane again."

Emma gave her a small smile. It was the first smile, and Emily tried to ignore the way the backs of her hands were itching. "Close your eyes."

Mistake or not, Emily couldn't do anything but obey. She tilted her head up and let her eyelids flutter shut and waited. Strangely she felt more at peace already.

In part of her head she knew she had expected the warm brush of lips across her own, but hadn't expected it to feel like it did. At that moment, her head tipped back, lips parting, finally all of the buzzing heat and panic slowed down and fused together in a flush of steady warmth spreading through her. She wanted more of it and pushed into the kiss, reaching out to touch Emma's waist and pull her just a little closer. Wherever they touched was like a conduit, adding another source of the sweet feeling rushing through her.

Emma seemed to feel the same. Her mouth was wet and demanding and her hands slid down Emily's back, fingernails tracing lines in her shirt.

And they were kissing at the sinks in the faculty bathroom. Anyone could walk in. Emily gasped and then Emma was pushing her away, flushed, lips red, eyes bright. She swallowed. "There, feels better, right?"

"I really don't-" Emily gasped for breath. "I don't think this was a good idea! We're in the bathroom-"

"That wasn't what I asked," Emma drawled slowly, growing relaxed and amused in response to her panic. The easy tone sent a wave of warmth through Emily, reminding her of how it had felt, and it smoothed the edges of her rising agitation.

"I…" she considered. "Yeah, I feel pretty good." She was calm again. "What made you think of that?"

"Grounding." Emma shrugged. "It always felt like an electric storm when we were in the same room. Sometimes lightning needs to strike."

Emily looked down. "Sometimes it's better if it doesn't."

Emma frowned, nodding as if she agreed, but then she glanced up, confused. "What do_ you_ mean?"

Emily felt sick, but she couldn't hide it, not after this. "Have you heard of Sinclair's?"


	3. Chapter 3

3

Kissing the counselor in the bathroom was probably not the best idea Emma had ever had. But she was sick of this, of the heat that bubbled up inside her like a cauldron on full boil. She had never managed to leave an encounter with the woman without desperately needing some release of tension. If she had been a martial artist she would have probably beaten someone up. Instead she fucked her boyfriend until he couldn't walk, and that wasn't going to work today.

So she had defused the bomb instead.

It wasn't as if the woman was unattractive, even while red in the face and calling her a slut, and then when Emma kept a firm grip on her sanity and not _engaged_, she had looked up at her, smiled, as if she were seeing a person rather than a body, looked hopeful. And she had had peanut butter in her hair. You couldn't feel offended by someone who had peanut butter in her hair.

Technically it was the wrong thing to do. She was engaged, and she wasn't about to risk that, but it was just a kiss. She hadn't expected it to work. And in truth she had just wanted to try touching her, increase the contact, and see if that would reduce the burn and sparking. But Emily had tilted her head up, silently begging to be kissed, and it was pretty obvious she was desperate. She might as well do her a favor.

But it had worked. Emma just really hadn't expected the conversation that came next.

"Have you heard of Sinclair's?"

Emma blinked. "Is that a restaurant?"

The counselor let out a short bark of laughter. "It's… a disease. There was a case in the papers a while back, about the man who-"

Emma frowned and cut her off. "Who murdered the boyfriend of that woman he hardly knew and got off on a medical excuse? I remember that. One of my students wrote a current events paper on it."

"He didn't get off. He was sent to a mental clinic."

That sounded like getting off to her. "What does this have to do with anything?" Uncomfortably she thought of the paper. The man had said it was destiny, and he could not bear her betrayal. "We're not insane, for one."

Emily just looked at her. "It doesn't feel that way to you?"

"But it's…" Emma needed to find a way to fight this. "The doctors called it sex pheromones or something. This isn't-"

"Isn't sex? What do you think you did to me to make it stop?"

Emma gave her a wry look. "I hate to break it to you, darling, but kissing is not sex."

Emily snorted with laughter, her mouth wide and pleased, and it was like a knife in the gut. Emma knew what that mouth felt like now, and she wanted it, _all over her._ It was a terrible thing to realize so late, but of _course_ it was sex. All the tension was sexual tension. It had to be. There was no other reason that her fiancé was walking bowlegged.

"Do you have something you need to tell me?"

Emily breathed in shakily. She looked like she needed a hand to steady her, but Emma couldn't give it. She knew what she was going to say, and the fear was subtle but overwhelming.

"I have it. I'm positive for Sinclair's Disease. And I'm so afraid I'll hurt you. I'm scared I can't control this."

"Then stay away from me." Emma didn't know anything about this. She didn't know why she was afraid, but it was obvious that there was a real reason to be. "Stay out of my way and far far away from my fiancé. Do you understand?"

Emily looked at her wide-eyed, but she nodded. That almost made it worse. She desperately wanted the counselor to tell her that it wasn't that dangerous, that she was strong enough to make it work. But clearly this was not the case. Emily hurriedly rummaged through her pockets and pulled out what looked like a pen.

"Here, take this. If you need to…" she gave a small weak smile. "Just stick me with it. It should knock me out in a few minutes."

Emma stared at it. "Tranquilizers?"

"Something like that." Emily turned to go. "I'm sorry," she said. "For making so much trouble for you."

Emma didn't respond and in a moment the door was swinging shut behind her.

xXx

It had been the worst day ever and all Emily wanted to do was lock herself in her office and cry. She couldn't, as there was a staff meeting, so she sat in the corner and felt nauseated instead. There had been one moment, just one single perfect moment, where everything had been better than she could imagine, where she felt happy instead of miserable, and hopeful instead of afraid. It hadn't lasted. It never did for her.

xXx

"What are you reading?" Peter peeked over her shoulder as he came in and Emma moved to close the file, but then she stopped. "Sinclair's disease? Huh. One of the guys in my lab was working on that for a while. He said half of the garbage out there's myth. It's a simple hormone imbalance, too much adrenaline or something. All of the mates and the transformations, they're just Hollywood additions to an anger management problem."

Emma frowned and looked at him. "Do you think he's right?"

"Well, he lost his grant after blowing most of it on Jaeger, so I wouldn't really call him an authority."

"The mating part… I'd never heard of that."

Peter blinked and took off his glasses. "It's been in the news a lot lately. Some people with Sinclair's claim that they have a weird reaction when they meet someone, an adrenaline rush, my colleague was trying to prove, and they interpret that as a sign of predestined love." He laughed lightly. "It's not my area, but Oxytocin can be dangerous." He smiled at her and gave her the look that meant he wanted to kiss her. Emma ignored it.

"What about the person that they meet, the one without the disease. Would they have a reaction?"

Peter frowned slightly. "I really don't know. But it's _lycanthropy_; it's absurd. Wolves mate for life," he said in a funny voice.

"It's not a joke!" Emma jerked the Epipen out of her pocket and thrust it in Peter's face. "My _friend_ gave me this today, so that I can stop her from _savaging_ me."

"She has Sinclair's?"

Emma pressed her fingers to her forehead to try and keep down her headache. "She said she was positive."

"And active Sinclair's too? That's pretty rare. Most people are carriers, asymptomatic."

"She has symptoms all right."

"Is she registered? But," he looked at the pen. "I'd suppose she'd have to be to get a prescription for this. Does she work at your school? Sinclair's patients aren't supposed to work around children."

Emma looked at him sharply. "Why not?"

Peter gave an odd smile. "You don't know? Most parents aren't too happy having a werewolf looking after their kids."

xXx

"Your face is hot," said Peter, touching her. "Are you feeling all right? Those kids didn't get you sick, did they?"

Emma batted his hand away. "I never get sick."

But she didn't want him to touch her that night. She sent him home, but was still restless. She threw off the sheets, her body slick with sweat, and then suddenly she was shivering and ice cold. Still shaking she staggered to the bathroom and threw up. It was just a twenty-four hour stomach flu she told herself. But the next morning, still hot shaky and miserable, she called in sick.

She slept for six hours that day, irregularly, waking sweaty from dreams of running, running through fields and forests, chasing and being chased. When she woke up the last time she had forgotten that she had been dreaming of running on four legs.

xXx

For the first two days, Emily had almost thought that it was working. She could stay away from her, control herself. But on the third day she stepped into the entryway of the school and froze. She could smell her. Amongst all the other scents, the hordes of stinky young teenagers, she could find that one soft thread of perfection. She staggered weakly into her office and Miss Hartley raised an eyebrow.

"It's worse today."

"She's in," Miss Hartley responded as if she had explained everything. "I had to find a substitute for her yesterday."

Emily threw herself into her work. She was going to manage this. It wouldn't be easy, but she could pull it off. That was what she told herself at least. She managed to believe it until sixth period, running a note to a teacher, she found herself in the hall outside Ms Frost's AP European History classroom, eyes closed, just breathing in the nearness of her. She found herself pulling up her schedule and staring at it pathetically. And sometimes she could catch herself walking, apparently aimlessly, and stopping to hover in a certain place. There was no pattern to it, no conscious knowledge, she just knew that if she didn't leave at the very moment she noticed her odd behavior, Emma was going to come out of that door, and she would have no excuses.

She was actually rather proud of herself to manage such unintentional following without running smack into her. At least she was proud of herself until Emma burst into her office at the end of classes on Friday and locked the door behind her.

"All right! This stalking thing has got to stop!"

Emily blinked, stunned. "What?"

"I said that you should leave me alone, not dog me around the corridors until I can't breathe for knowing you're there."

Emily felt shocked and rather horrified at her own actions. She struggled to contain the adrenaline rush. Guilt helped. "I didn't mean-"

"Like hell you didn't! I've been late to class more times in this past week, waiting behind doors until you finally make up your stupid mind and move along, than any week _ever_."

There was only so long she could keep a rein on it, with Emma in her office, her territory, and shouting at her. Emily rose up out of her desk chair. "I _miss_ it! I feel sick all the time now. I miss feeling angry, the thrill of it. Even the burn is better than this!"

"We can't feed it! The more contact we have, the harder it is to go back."

She didn't pull away though. She didn't step back, and Emily felt the torques of heat building, arcing like electricity released from a tesla coil. Her face was hot, fingers aching. "I _want_ you."

Emma's eyes grew cold and angry. "You have no right-"

"You came here! You confronted me! You know what that does!"

"I can't stand you following me anymore! I can feel you waiting, watching me. I have to _teach_, and if I let my frustrations out on my students one more time, there is going to be an uprising! You ought to be mature enough to consider how difficult this is for me!"

"For you?" Emily paced closer to her. "I can't stop thinking about you. You're in my head all the time, your face, your mouth, your hair falling around your face as you fuck that man, and I want to rip his throat out and _take_ you, grab you by the throat and force you up against the wall, and-"

Emma smacked her across the face, putting her fingernails into it, leaving bloody scratches across Emily's cheek. Emily lunged for her, furious. Emma grabbed her arms, and used the weight of her body to shove her against the door. Her fingers tangled into Emily's hair, jerking her head back, and she ground their mouths together, her teeth leaving a bloody wound in Emily's lower lip.

"You think you would be the one to take _me_?" Emma hissed. Emily gasped, forcing her eyes shut and pushing up into her, their lips barely brushing. She opened, letting her in. Her hands slid down Emma's back, groping roughly at her ass. Emma mouthed her neck, her lips and tongue bringing the blood to the surface, her hand pressing into Emily's breast, circling her palm, and making it burn. Emily's teeth ached, her mouth wet. A low growl came out of her throat, and she could smell her, too close and too vulnerable. She was poised to bite, her lips curled back, a hiss of breath announcing it to the room.

Emma's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away or try to keep Emily off. Instead she hesitantly tilted her head so that her hair fell away and bared her neck. Emily's eyes changed and she lunged, but only lips pressed against Emma's neck.

"Oh my God," she mumbled into her skin. "I can't believe- I…" She shoved Emma away from her. "Go! Go! I'm not safe!"

"What? Are you joking? You think _you_ could hurt me?"

"Get out!" There was something wrong with her mouth, like her teeth didn't quite fit, and made her voice muffled and a little savage.

"All right," Emma said weakly, stepping away from her and letting her flee towards her desk. "Later. I'll call you later."

Emily nodded, unable to meet her eyes, and at the sound of the door closing, she slumped into her desk, utterly ashamed.

xXx

Emma paced around the house for a half an hour before she called. They met at a small coffee shop on the edge of town, near the fields. Emily said that she had a lot to tell her, but she sat stirring the foamed milk into her coffee for a few solid minutes before starting to speak.

"It happened when I ran away to Indonesia after flunking out of law school."

Emma blinked. "I feel like I'm coming in half way through a very interesting story."

Emily laughed weakly. "Just a life crisis. I'm due a couple more, if I live that long."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Still."

"I should never have gone to law school. My mother made the choice for me, and all the other students freaked me out. I did poorly first semester, but halfway through second semester I just could not care less, bought an airplane ticket and left the country." She grinned weakly to herself. "I liked to think I was on the run, which I was. But it's a little less impressive if you're on the run from your mother."

Emma snorted. "This is true."

"But I was in Indonesia, Jakarta, and, uh, slumming and getting hammered with a group of rent-boys."

Emma blinked.

"They were good kids! They just worked for a living." Emily glanced down. "There was this one boy, Anjing, they called him, unsubtly, who hung out with us. And there was an altercation with a white man, a buyer, over payment for a packet of shabu, and I got involved. I was surprised when nobody else had, and I stepped in a little too close, and Anjing bit me accidentally."

"Bit you?" It was expected and yet absurd at the same time.

Emily shrugged. "It was more of a tooth scrape, but it was enough. I got sick. It wasn't the most responsible time of my life, but everything else cleared up with penicillin. I was having hallucinations and fever and puking up everything I ate. I passed out from the dehydration, and the police picked me up and took me to the hospital."

"Not your rent-boy boyfriends?"

Emily glared at her. Emma grinned back. She liked this part of her prudish counselor. She wasn't quite as innocent as she'd have people believe. "No, they left after I got bitten. They didn't want the wrath of the west on them. Which was sensible, since my mother found me when I was in the hospital. If you survive the first week, Sinclair's doesn't kill outright. A lot of people are carriers, no overt symptoms, but I'm not one of them. My mother dragged me to every specialist she could find, but there aren't a lot of pretty answers. When we finally found someone who didn't want to try full body blood replacement, or experimental brain surgery, he told me 'stop dating, start meditation, and don't work with children.'" Emily glanced down. "The last one's the one I didn't follow. It's pretty rare, but there has been at least one case of someone with Sinclair's eating a child. I take anti-depressants and drink a lot of St John's Wort."

"Not dating is supposed to be part of your therapy?" Emma knew she sounded incredulous, but it seemed absurd.

"Being alone is more stable." Emily shrugged. "Not that dating is something I'm good at in general. As long as I score okay on the psych tests they don't have to institutionalize me."

"Is that an option?" This woman was just starting out. Would they really end her life like that?

"It's kind of inevitable. If you're lucky you can live with it for a while, but eventually you encounter a trigger, and something snaps. Then you can't function in society anymore, and they take you away."

"A trigger? What sort of things are triggers?"

"A traumatic experience, meeting someone you see as an enemy," Emily looked away. "Meeting someone you want to be your mate."

Emma's stomach sank. She wasn't going to be able to save this girl. Her feelings must have shown on her face, because Emily glanced down, guilt written in her eyes.

"I think you're my trigger."

Emma just watched her, hunched and hurting in front of her, facing the end of her normal life, a life she had barely begun. "What can I do?"

The idiot looked up at her, clearly confused. "What?"

Emma shrugged stiffly, hating being called on her generosity. "You make a pretty martyr, but I don't like people who give up without a fight. I may be your trigger, and I'm sure the stalking is a bad sign, but I'd rather be able to say that I did everything I could to keep you from going off the deep end."

Emily looked utterly stunned and unbearably grateful. "I guess I could take you with me to see the doctor."

Emma kept the grimace off her face. She hated doctors. Instead she nodded coldly. "Sounds like a thrilling afternoon. Give me your phone." She programmed her number into it and tossed it back. "I'll be there when you need me to be."

"Thank you." Emily still looked bewildered and a little shocked. "But why? I was such a bitch to you."

"You were. But I don't necessarily think that you need to spend the rest of your life imprisoned for it. I'm not _that_ cruel."


	4. Chapter 4

4

Emily did her best, but the shaking and panic attacks and night sweats were getting to be unbearable. She knew she was doing a terrible job of hiding them. Miss Hartley kept giving her suspicious narrow looks when she came in in the morning with circles under her eyes, her hands still quivering. She had gone back to Dr. McCoy but he said it was too dangerous to increase her medication any more right now. If she didn't stabilize in a month there were some other things she could try, but right now he encouraged meditation, long runs, and a healthy diet. Emily considered taking up smoking again, but she had tried that once at the beginning and it had had absolutely no effect on the burning under her skin. Instead she stayed up late watching television. She couldn't bear to face the dreams.

She ended up watching the Disney channel most of the time. Anything with bloodshed or sex would remind her of the dreams, and she would get lost in a hallucination, her teeth closing on someone's throat, the blood, hot and spurting, spraying down her chin.

She had expected the symptoms to get worse. Everything she had looked at said that that was one of the signs of a trigger. Whatever Sinclair's did to you when you were exposed, encountering a trigger started a second stage of reaction, stronger and more difficult to control, medically or emotionally. Even carriers, who hadn't shown any reaction in the first stage were vulnerable to triggers. She hadn't expected the side effects of her medication to also increase. Dr McCoy _had_ increased her dosage. Still, her symptoms were worse, _and_ her side effects were worse. One or the other, she had thought, not both.

These days she was always tired, dizzy, and sick to her stomach from the drugs, and yet they didn't seem to be doing anything. She stood in front of the mirror in her underwear and turned, wincing at what she saw. Nothing was going to help this. She should just jump off a fucking bridge.

xXx

"What's going on, Emma?"

Emma frowned, putting down the water bottle next to the computer. "What do you mean?"

Peter frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. "There's something wrong and you won't tell me what it is."

There _was_ something wrong, and she was so afraid of what she thought it might be. "It's none of your business!" she snapped.

His eyes widened. "I thought…" he glanced away, and when he looked back he had set his jaw. "If we're going to get married you should be able to talk to me."

She looked at him for a long time. She had seen pictures of him when he was young, gawky and awkward, glasses falling off his nose, but he had grown into himself, found confidence and pride in intellectualism, rather than continually cursing himself for never being the strong one or the athletic one. But sometimes his constant battle with his sense of his own masculinity was so obvious. It bored her.

"You're not my husband yet. My problems are still my problems, and my secrets are mine alone." She wanted to hurt him, but he didn't deserve that.

"I want to _help_," he replied, upset but not angry. He never _engaged_ when she wanted a fight. She had liked that before, liked that he let her win. But she could push him for years and he'd never fight back. At least Emily knew how to be a bitch, even if that was her only good point. Still, she couldn't ask him to fight when he wouldn't.

"What do you think about love?" she asked, out of the blue, knowing it would confuse him and not caring. "As a scientist, I mean, not as a romantic or a fiancé or a man."

"As a scientist?" he blinked, but she could see him switch into his academic mode where he was always calm and intent. "Well, there are different kinds of love, and there's the chemical component, but also the psychological aspect, familiarity, shared interests…"

"Yes," Emma cut him off. "That's what I mean. There's that aspect as well. It can't just be chemical, you can't just be… _fated_ to love someone by your brain chemistry."

Peter laughed. "Well, you never know, do you? Sometimes that 'love-at-first-sight' rush of Oxytocin doesn't last, it's totally absurd, and in retrospect you wonder why you were even attracted to that crazy person. But sometimes it's just a jumpstart to something more permanent, more meaningful. All of those love gurus might tell you different, but people change, and there's no way to really predict long-term compatibility."

"What if you could?" He blinked at her, puzzled. "What if, say, every time you saw someone, smelled them, got near them, you had a rush of that chemical, Oxycontin, or whatever. And you knew that you would feel that way every time, only with them, for the rest of your life. What would you do?"

Peter looked stunned, and then laughed as if he was surprised she didn't know. "Go for it, of course! If you could have that, guaranteed-"

"Even if you didn't like the person? Even if you had other commitments? You would volunteer to be controlled by your body?"

"I know every situation is different, and there's never going to be an easy choice to make, but why are you so afraid of being controlled by your body chemistry?" Peter looked curious and analytical. "It happens every day. You can't escape that. And, even as a scientist, it's often a lot better to listen to what your body is telling you rather than try and drug yourself out of a mood or a feeling."

"Does that go for people prone to violence and insanity too?"

Peter made a hesitant gesture, but nodded. "In a way. You can do amazing things with medication, and real scientists have looked into things and made calculations and theories, but in the end a lot of medicine is banging the top of the TV and hoping that fixes it. Humans are amazing organisms that can adapt to so many things, and there are ways to change what's happening in our bodies without resorting to external fixes. Some things need a little tinkering, but other things are natural and can be changed in natural ways. You don't need to fight everything. Free will only goes so far."

Emma dropped back in her chair. "That wasn't really the answer I was looking for. And you're a terrible scientist."

Peter laughed. "Your mind doesn't _always_ have to be stronger than your body. Come on, I don't feel like cooking. Lets go out to dinner."

xXx

"You look like hell!" said JJ, loudly, when Emily opened the door.

"It's nice to see you too."

"Yeah, seriously though." JJ pushed past her and into her apartment, shoving a paper bag into her hand. "I brought you food, Chinese, and that pudding stuff you like when you're feeling this way."

"Thanks."

JJ waved her hand magnanimously. "Just don't throw broccoli at me and I'll love you forever. God, five-year-olds." She collapsed gracefully on the couch.

Emily laughed and peered into the bag. There were kabobs! She stuck one in her mouth. It was salty on the outside but soft and juicy inside. She made a noise of appreciation. JJ grimaced. "I told them underdone. I didn't mean raw."

"They're really good."

"You have bloody soy sauce running down your chin."

Emily hurriedly went for a napkin.

xXx

Emma found the obvious nervousness that the counselor had around her rather amusing. She had been waiting, leaning against the handicapped parking sign by the doctor's office for ten minutes and watching Emily lurk around the other end of the parking lot, apparently building up her confidence and then making an attempt at walking towards her, and then stopping suddenly, making a quick about face, and hiding behind a convenient van.

Finally she seemed to get ahold of herself and made it all the way to the door. She nodded briefly at Emma, her lips pressed tightly together, and then jerked her head towards the entrance.

"Now I really want to know what you were going to say to me."

Emily gave her a look and led the way inside and up to the second floor. Emma followed her into the office and looked curiously at the bulky, hairy man in a lab coat and glasses who was in the middle of putting away a book. The man, Dr McCoy, Emma assumed, as that was the name on the desk, returned the curious gaze.

"This is her," Emily said awkwardly. "The one I argued with. It hasn't been getting better. It's worse. I think-"

"And she thinks it's my fault," Emma cut in smoothly, a fake smile on her face.

Dr McCoy glanced back and forth between them and looked rather worried. "Oh, I see." Emily shut her mouth tightly and slumped embarrassedly into a chair. Emma ignored her lack of manners. She shook Dr McCoy's hand, looking at it closely, and introduced herself. Then he sat down and she did as well. He turned to Emily first. "The increased medication hasn't helped?"

Emily shook her head. "I thought it did, but I feel like I'm half out of control all of the time. I'm not even angry and it's still the same feeling. Like I'm ready, but I don't know what for, or what I'll do if something happens."

The doctor nodded. "I have some samples of a new medication I'd like you to try. It isn't an anticonvulsant. It's actually supposed to fight the adrenaline rush itself. It builds up, hopefully cutting down the extra adrenaline in your system that creates that feeling, and when a rush occurs it reacts with the adrenaline to create a more benign compound."

Emma snorted quietly. They both looked at her. "Do _you_ think it's actually caused by an excess of adrenaline in the system?"

Dr McCoy looked nervous. "I- Sinclair's disease modifies the brain chemistry in countless ways. There is an increase of many hormones and chemicals, and it's very difficult to say which ones are responsible for which symptoms, but the rage fueled violence has been consistently linked to adrenaline, so that has been the general target of treatment."

"Linked to," Emma repeated. "Not caused by. It's 'rage-fueled violence' not adrenaline-fueled rage, or rage-fueled adrenaline rush?"

"These treatments have been generally proven to be effective."

"_Generally_," Emma hissed. "One in five Sinclair's patients is in a mental hospital by age 30. Four out of five end their lives in an institution. I'm not even saying average age of death, because it's sickening."

"What do you want me to tell you?" Dr McCoy asked, his voice more harsh than Emma had supposed possible. "You've clearly done your research."

"What happens if she stops medicating entirely?" Emma asked, and Emily sat up from where she had been huddling pathetically, clearly surprised. She followed Emma's gaze to the doctor, who was gaping in shock at the question.

"You don't want to know."

Emma frowned. "I do, actually. That's why I asked. She has the right to be informed about this. She's shouldn't die. Sinclair's doesn't kill after the first week, right? So what does happen?"

Dr McCoy shook his head, unsettled. "I thought we were going to talk about mating?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," Emma said with a heavy hint of cockblock in her tone. Emily laughed, a lilt of surprised amusement making it bright. Emma glanced over at her and quickly restrained the involuntary grin.

He looked at both of them, an odd expression on his face. "It depends on the patient, but in general, leaving Sinclair's unmedicated starts a dangerous spiral. The rage and paranoia increase, any claustrophobia or enochlophobia is exacerbated, cities and crowds become unbearable. Also physical strength often increases, making rage attacks even less manageable. Other physical symptoms also increase."

Emma reached out and caught Emily's hand jerking it forward. "Symptoms like these?" she showed the soft hairs, fur really, growing up in a point from the wrist, slowly encroaching on the back of the hand.

Dr McCoy's hands tightened, but he nodded. "Yes." Emma gave a sharp glance to his wrists and let Emily jerk her hand away in humiliation.

"And triggers are a natural part of this disease, a devolution into madness, completely unstoppable by medication?"

Dr McCoy sighed. "There are ways to survive triggers. Completely avoiding the company or presence of the target seems to be the most effective. Someone I know who met a sworn enemy moved across the country and is doing quite well. Intensive therapy can work for some traumatic events, and, well, pair bonding is effective for mating situations."

"Pair bonding?"

"The target is infected with Sinclair's and forms an intimate and sexual relationship with the patient. Of course it is illegal to purposely infect someone, but occasionally one can claim it was inadvertent, particularly if a sexual relationship has already occurred."

Emma froze, a horrified expression on her face.

"I assume that is not the solution here."

"I'm engaged," Emma said stiffly. "I'm afraid forming a pair-bond with someone else would not exactly make my fiancé happy."

Her eyes slid over to Emily, who was looking down, the muscles of her jaw twitching, as she tried not to open her mouth too far. Emma looked away, afraid of what she would find inside. "Other options?"

"Leave." Dr McCoy said flatly. "Don't touch each other, and leave as soon as you can. You can't put it off or fool around with this. Once a sexual relationship has been consummated permanent separation can be very dangerous. A thousand miles away, preferably. That can work. Medication and willpower only stave off the inevitable, and the side effects can be deadly, for other people."

xXx

The doctor's visit hadn't been anything she had expected. Emma had been waiting for her, _there_ for her, and in the office their chairs had been sitting close, not touching, but near enough to make her feel enveloped by her scent and her presence. Emily always felt ten times worse when she saw the doctor, oppressed by the small room and intently analytical eyes on her, trying to help her, but also just waiting for her to show herself as too crazy, too dangerous to live. He could help her, but he could send her away just as easily, more easily. But with Emma there it felt like the playing field was more even. She questioned him, criticized him, challenged him in ways that Emily hadn't been able to do for herself.

And Emma was there to be with her, no other reason, so the frantic, "my Emma, mine!" that she had around other people faded into a confident satisfaction. The doctor might have been worried, but Emily had unexpectedly felt whatever it was inside her sitting up, alert and proud, as if saying 'admire me for finding a mate like this, one who will fight to protect me. Aren't I an excellent judge of character?'

Then, of course, it had slid downhill at a precipitous pace. Emma might care a little bit, but even if it wasn't apparent in person, Emily knew from reading her file that she cared about her students just the same. She took someone's side and defended it passionately; she wouldn't let anyone fail without a fight. But she wasn't going to screw up her own life to give Emily what she wanted. She'd save her, but she wouldn't give her anything she didn't _need_.

"I'm sorry," Emily said, sagging slightly as they walked down the stairs to the exit. "I made you go to that and there's nothing, nothing that can fix this."

"No, there were some interesting things that he said."

"You're not planning on giving up your fiancé and becoming my pair-bond, are you?" Emily laughed at her own pathetic joke, but Emma stiffened. She gave Emily a harsh look. "I'm kidding!"

"Look," Emma said with a scowl. "Peter is… he's _nice_. I don't _get_ nice boyfriends. I can't just give him up. Not even because you need me."

"I understand." Emily smiled weakly. "A nice boyfriend, I know how hard that is to find."

Emma glanced over at her, then gave a small sigh. She leaned over and cupped Emily's chin, then she brushed their lips together, gently. "Goodbye," she said softly.

"What?" Emily whimpered, half stunned by the kiss.

"I can't save you. All I can do is stay away."

And that was more than she had expected. "I'll be gone soon," she desperately swore. "Give me a week or two to get a replacement, I'll try to find another job, or I'll move back in with my mom. I just…"

"You don't deserve this!" Emma glared at her. "I can't help you, but you _don't_ deserve this."

Emily looked away, and then looked back, a weak smile completely failing to mask the hopelessness on her face. "You don't always get what you deserve."


	5. Chapter 5

5

"Hi." Garcia stood in front of the desk, gaping.

Miss Hartley gave her a sharp look over the rims of her glasses. "What do you need?"

Penelope's mouth was still partly open. "Is that a linux-based rig with an IBM 104 clicky and-" She bent to peek under the desk. "Four processing units?"

"Yes."

"Is it overclocked?"

Miss Hartley raised a single eyebrow as if inquiring why it mattered. "Of course."

Emily peeked out of her office and made a face. "Garcia? What's up?"

Penelope glanced desperately between her and Miss Hartley's computer. Miss Hartley gave a slight gesture of impatience and Garcia ducked past her desk and into Emily's office. She shut the door. "Your secretary is _awesome!_ How dare you quit your job!"

"She's not _my_ secretary. And she has nothing to do with me leaving. I _have_ to leave."

"It's about the girl," Garcia said flatly.

"She's not a _girl_."

"What_ever_. Why are you leaving town? If she isn't interested, find someone else!"

"I _can't_. You know I can't. I don't know how it works, or why, but she's my mate. She's _it_. That 'not dating' advice was unnecessary, because there isn't anyone else I want. There isn't anyone else I _can_ want."

"Sounds romantic."

Emily frowned, not meeting her eyes. "It's not love. I can smell her from three rooms away, and it's like it goes straight past me, straight to the wolf, and I _want_ her."

Garcia looked at her intently, frowning. "The wolf? You never called it that before."

Emily shrugged roughly. "That's what everyone else says it is. I know it's just a disease, something wrong with me. But it doesn't always feel that way."

"Why can't you have her?"

"She doesn't want me. She has a fiancé, who's _nice_, someone that she actually cares for. Isn't that better than some unbreakable unwanted shackle, bound to someone you don't even know?"

"Not really." Garcia met her eyes and wouldn't let her look away. "You can always fall out of love with someone, but you'll never stop wanting her, or needing to protect her, will you?"

Emily shook her head. "Maybe. It doesn't mean I know how to be _nice_ though."

"Well, maybe if you released the sexual tension you wouldn't feel obligated to be such a bitch."

xXx

"The new drugs aren't working." Emily said softly over the phone. Emma stilled at the sound of her voice and didn't reply. "They make my head all fuzzy. I can't think. It doesn't stop the anger, and I'm useless. There was a parent in today, yelling at me, asking why her darling daughter was failing math. It was because she hadn't done her homework in six months, and I could feel the anger and frustration rising up. The medication turned it into a blinding headache, but it just distracted me. I couldn't _think_; I couldn't pull back anymore. And I would have attacked her if Miss Hartley hadn't suddenly come in and pulled her away."

"You shouldn't take those drugs anymore."

"You're my doctor now?" Emily barked, and then swallowed guiltily. "Shit."

Emma shook her head. "You should get off of them. They're clearly less effective than your old drugs, which hardly worked themselves."

"Are they?" Emily asked weakly. "Or am I just getting worse? If I go off of them…"

"Maybe you are getting worse, but that doesn't mean you can't control it." Emma's voice was sharp, and Emily blinked, confused.

"What?"

"I've been reading, and… it seems that although certain mood stabilizers and sedatives can reduce symptoms, they are _only_ treating symptoms. Meditation, running, being outdoors, that's where you can control it. You have to understand the way it's changing you, and let it teach you how to change your habits in accordance."

"Are you joking?" Emily frowned. "It's a disease. You _saw_ me. You guessed what I could have done to you. You can't _understand_ it."

"You can listen to me or not! But I _did_ see you, I saw your mouth and your eyes, and there is _no way_ that can be the result of a hormone imbalance. But _you _called _me_, and that's all I have to say to you!"

Emma hung up with a sharp click. Emily stared at the dead phone for a long moment, a hopeless little "oh" coming out of her chest. She hung up the receiver and dropped back into her pillows. She wanted to cry, and she felt the ache in her fingers and her tailbone that could so easily turn into anger. She didn't reach for her Epipen though, she just clung to the sheets and breathed in, counting the beats of her heart in each inhale and exhale.

In the morning she broke the dose in half. She wasn't stupid or inexperienced enough to go cold turkey.

xXx

"Emma? Are you okay?" Peter mumbled, half asleep. His hand moved to her shoulder and she jerked away.

"_Don't touch me!"_ she snapped. He blinked in surprised, almost waking up fully. She slipped out of bed and took a deep breath. "Sorry," she said. "I- I need some water."

She bypassed the kitchen, the bathroom, and her shoes. Her house was only a few blocks from the fields at the edge of town, and she barely noticed the night-cold pavement under her feet. She ran faster, loping easily, not breathing hard at all in the cool air, chasing the moonlight, and the soles of her feet touched grass. Her chest lightened at the softness, the reality of it, and she hardly noticed when she started running on all fours.

"Mmm," Peter mumbled when she came back. "You smell like pollen," he said, and sneezed twice while still asleep.

xXx

Apparently wolves had been spotted near the town. Emily glanced down at the pamphlet thrust into her hand by a small child. "Save the grey wolf," it said. "Benefits of natural predators, reduction in the deer population, a sustainable ecosystem, will not attack farm animals."

"They don't mention the reduction in the stray cat population," Emma said, appearing behind her suddenly. Emily gasped and dropped her pamphlet. She hadn't scented her approach.

"What-" She scooped up the paper and looked down at it, feeling ill. "What if it's me?"

Emma looked at her. "You'd remember," she said. "I'd remember if it were me." She disappeared down the hall. Emily gasped a little, trying to breathe in uncontaminated air. She couldn't last like this, but she had her tickets to her mother's house in Virginia at the end of the week. Just three more days and this would be over.

xXx

She couldn't lie to herself anymore. Emma had told herself over and over again that the constant hydration and iron supplements were just in case. They were good for her anyways. The advice had made it sound so easy, but it wasn't easy, not when she could smell _everything._ That was what made the nausea constant, the garbage, the people, the horrible acrid scent of perfume and cologne. She had thrown out everything scented from her bathroom and vanity. Peter walked in the door and she had to cover her face with one hand and then shove him towards the bathroom with the other. "New soap," she managed to say. "Wash thoroughly." Utterly bemused, he obeyed.

She also hated the way her eyes would flick to black and white right when she needed to choose her outfit. Sticking to all white helped. The muscles in her arms and legs ached as if begging her to use them. She remembered the way Emily had fled past her window on the day of their first meeting. She had dreams about running, and sometimes she would wake up with burrs on the cuffs of her pajama pants and twigs in her hair.

Peter had come upon her wrecking her refrigerator, looking for something that she wanted to eat. Eventually she found an abandoned tin of Bovril sitting at the very back, made it, and drank it down like it was nectar. Peter had turned green at the smell and made an excuse about work before fleeing.

The doctor, the pages she had read, neither had the answers she needed. It was already so hard to stay away from Emily, so much harder than it had been at the beginning, and the ache didn't let up when they were far apart. It was less than when she could smell her but not see her, or see her and not reach her, but it was still there. What she had read suggested that it would hurt for the infected one, but it would be manageable. Eventually, she would hardly notice it at all. But if it was both of them… She didn't know if it would be worse, but she was terrified that the happy little comments about 'best case scenario' and 'slight pain' would suddenly be thrown out the window.

The woods were close and she didn't feel like trails, she tied her hair back, tugged down the waist of her thin tank-top and set out. It was like meditation, one step, two steps, four, ten, and she slipped out of the driver's seat, letting the wolf lope joyfully through the trees.

xXx

Peter stood in the grocery store, in the ice cream isle, perusing the section unhappily. It was really obvious that Emma was feeling sick, but it had been more than a week now and he worried that she was pushing herself too hard right after the flu she had had. He took out a box of Dove bars and considered them, then sighed and reached to put them back.

"I'll take those, if you don't mind."

Peter turned with a start toward the pleasant feminine voice. A young blonde woman was standing behind him, leaning on her shopping cart. He offered her the box and she took it, and put it in her car. "I'm sorry," he said. "Was I blocking you?"

The woman laughed. "Well, it wasn't boring at least. I have to say I was wondering what you were thinking about in your contemplation of ice cream."

Peter glanced toward the case and then back to the woman. "It's my girlfriend," he said. "My fiancée," he clarified, and looked rather surprised at his own words. "She hasn't been feeling well lately and I was trying to think of something that she would like."

"How sweet! I hope there's nothing wrong."

"I don't think so. She's been getting over the flu. It's sort of been…" he frowned. "She's more angry than usual, and her skin is hot, and she can't sleep. She has lots of headaches and I'm worried it's affecting her eyesight."

The woman looked concerned. "I-" she started. "I have a friend who's, well, she has ups and downs, mood swings and headaches like that. But," she caught his arm all of a sudden and started tugging Peter down the aisle. "When she's feeling kind of low, she likes this." She pointed to the extra large tapioca ball tapioca pudding sitting next to the orange juice. "She says the balls are like gristle."

Peter looked at her, shocked. "What?"

"Uhhh, I said, um, griiisjun," the woman corrected quickly, "A German children's candy. Not gristle. They, um, remind her of her childhood, in, uh, Germany," she tried.

Peter glanced at her and then at the puddings. It was worth a shot. "Thank you," he said, taking one off the shelf. "Miss…"

"Jareau," the woman said, and then grinned embarrassedly. "Only my students call me Miss Jareau. I'm JJ."

"Peter." They shook hands.

xXx

Being off the drugs was getting easier. Emma was right. She couldn't deal with _her_, but the rest of it, the anger and anxiety, dealing with people, they were almost manageable with deep breathing and escaping out to the woods behind the soccer fields at lunch time. It was strange how much more at peace she felt in the woods.

It was Friday, and she leaned back against the tree, enjoying the way the sun lit the leaves above her from behind. She had the last of JJ's tapioca puddings in her hand, a spoonful of it in her mouth. Her plane left at five the next day, and it was an hour to the airport. At least one school had shown interest at having her fill in for the end of the year for a counselor on maternity leave. But it was in an inner city high school in Chicago she wasn't certain if she could handle that, particularly without medication. It was going to hurt to leave here. She liked it up here. The town was large enough to have a separate middle school and high school, but a few miles away from downtown there was nothing but fields and trees, huge expanses of empty land. The first few weeks she had biked out every weekend, but she had felt too terrible lately to do it. Now that she was off the drugs she felt better. Maybe she could take a ride this afternoon or tomorrow morning if she had time.

She took the last bite of pudding and then glanced around, but she was deep enough into the woods that nobody could see her, so she licked around the edge of the pudding cup, gathering up all the remnants. If she relaxed, her tongue was just long enough to reach the bottom, and she cleaned it thoroughly. There was a prickle from the back of her neck as other effects beside her longer tongue were triggered, but there was no one to see her here, no one to humiliate her like Emma had when she had shown the doctor the way the fur was starting to peek up out of her cuffs. It wasn't long or thick yet, and it went away sometimes, not of course when she wanted it to.

She closed her eyes, leaning back against the tree, rubbing her back against the bark though her shirt. It felt excellent. Her mind drifted like she was meditating, through the trees, in and out of puddles of sun. She breathed in and a smile curled across her face. She knew that scent and the sound of those footfalls.

The wolf looked over. Emma was standing in the trees, sweat glistening on the expanse skin that showed nearly everywhere. She was only wearing a soaked ribbed tanktop, her sports bra completely visible underneath and white nylon running shorts. Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck, darkened with sweat and curling slightly, and Emily just couldn't help the sudden swell of joy that rose up inside.

"Emma!" She popped up to her feet, happily, and threw her arms around the taller woman's neck, tugging her down so she could press her nose into the slick patch of sweat layered on the back of her neck. "You're here!"

xXx

Emma hadn't intended to find her, but tired out, she had walked aimlessly and pushed though a few branches to find her, sitting under a tree, looking up at the leaves, looking happy. She had taken one more step, unable to look away. And then Emily had looked over, something unrecognizable in her eyes, and yet it was the same unrecognizable thing that was always there, only this time stronger, and not tense or unhappy or angry, just there, looking at her from inside. And then Emily was up, clinging to her, hanging off her neck, and Emma felt a low deep purr in her chest respond to her nearness.

She struggled to free herself half-heartedly. "Emily!" She cupped the backs of her arms, trying to get a look at her face. But Emily just nuzzled more, leaving kisses and nips on her cheek and neck.

"I love the way you smell!" she exclaimed, as if it was the only thing she _could_ say at that moment. She pulled back slightly, cocking her head at Emma's incredulous expression. "And your eyebrows! And-" she leaned in and licked up Emma's neck. "And the way you taste!"

"Emily! What are you _on_ today?" Emily blinked. Emma laughed at her, but she just grinned back, clearly having no idea why.

"Nothing! I didn't take my meds today!" She licked Emma's face affectionately. "I hate them. They make me feel ick." She pouted, and Emma smiled, eyeing her with slight apprehension, but enjoying the playfulness. She pressed a finger against the tip of Emily's nose, holding her back from making more forays with her tongue.

"I thought _I_ made you feel ick."

Emily looked at her adoringly. Usually Emma would be horrified by such blatant affection, but it was like a dog, it wasn't manipulative or pathetic, it was just 'I need you to survive,' and Emma could understand that. "You? You make me feel like the world is all better, like it's not dire and dark and _doomed_. You make things bright."

"I know what you mean," Emma said, tracing a finger up the back of her neck and curling into her hair. Emily suddenly looked sad.

"Your fiancé?" She tried to twist away but Emma caught her arms, holding her firmly.

"No." Emma tugged her closer. She hesitated for a moment, but she needed to say it, _consciously _she needed to say it, because unconsciously all she wanted was to cling to her and press her nose into her neck and _prove_ it. "You. It's about _you_."

Emily looked stunned and a little broken, and Emma leaned in and pressed her lips gently, chastely, against Emily's. Emily whimpered a little. It made something dark and desperate twist in Emma's stomach and she was no longer sure who was in control.

"He told me… he told me that if I didn't touch you, maybe this would be okay, maybe I could survive it."

Emma curled an arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. "Do you really want to survive this?"

"No," Emily whispered, and leaned in, letting their lips touch without making it a kiss. She breathed out, and Emma inhaled her breath. Emma's hand slipped under her shirt up her back into unexpected softness.

"Don't!" Emily jerked away from her and tripped backwards over a root, falling onto her ass and making an unhappy whimper. Emma stood over her, frowning.

"What?"

"I don't- you don't want to touch that." Emma dropped to her knees and reached for the buttons on her shirt. "I said _don't!" _Emily lashed out and Emma ducked her head but didn't move away, letting the cuff strike her in the shoulder. It was a heavy blow, but it didn't have claws. She didn't mean it to do damage. She reached forward again, unbuttoning the shirt. Emily didn't try to stop her this time, but she wouldn't meet her eyes. When the shirt was open, Emma pushed it to her shoulders. "Please stop. I don't want you to see."

"I want to." Emma slipped the shirt off, exposing pale skin and dark thick fur. It was gorgeous. Emily glanced down hurriedly.

"God, it's gotten worse."

"Better I think," Emma purred. She moved quickly catching Emily off guard. It had to be fast and tricky, because she wouldn't win in a fair fight. She flipped her onto her stomach and straddled her, keeping her down. "Got you."

Emily groaned.

The fur was long and thick between her shoulder blades, falling in a zigzag pattern down her back, bristling up over the bifurcation of her bra straps. Emma unfastened the bra, shoving it away, and buried her hands in the fur. It was lush and soft, and she let it bristle up between her fingers as she moved her hands against the grain up Emily's back. Emily gasped and lay still and Emma felt a pleased growl rumble in her throat. She bent her head, pressing her nose into the fur, breathing it in. She couldn't stop touching it. She rubbed her cheek against it and tugged at it with her teeth. Emily gave a little whimper in response.

It still wasn't close enough and Emma pulled her damp clinging tank top off over her head and then her bra and molded her body against Emily's back. She curled her fingers around Emily's arms, pulling her self up so that the fur bit into her sweat-sticky skin, rough against her nipples, and making her growl in pleasure. It was too much. She squirmed futilely, trying to get just a little more, enough to satisfy the wolf, and then she bit down on Emily's shoulder, with teeth sharp enough to draw blood. Emily jerked at the sudden pain, pushing herself up to hands and knees, trying to throw her off, but Emma shoved her hips into her ass, grinding against her, and used the opportunity to shove a hand down the front of her trousers.

Emily could complain all she wanted that she didn't want Emma to see her fur, but she couldn't deny that being petted turned her on. She was slick and liquid down there, and the scent of it overwhelmed her. When Emily felt fingers slide into her, she flopped ungracefully back onto her stomach, but it was too late. The heel of Emma's hand ground against her clit and her fingers slid through her wetness, not inside, but Emma didn't need to go inside. This was perfect. Emily whimpered, wordless, her hips rolling against Emma's hand and Emma pressed a kiss to her neck.

Emily was still and quivery under her, and Emma curled into the fur, rubbing her body against it, but keeping her hand still. She ground her hips against Emily's ass again, and then used them to thrust against her, hard, forcing Emily against her hand. Emily keened, but couldn't stop moving now that she'd started, and Emma moved her hand with her hips, fucking Emily, sandwiched between her hips and her hand, the rough ground against her bare front. Emma was biting and sucking at her neck, still finding skin even as fur spread up it, quick enough for her to see, and her hips ground into Emily again and this time she could feel the hard lump of her tailbone growing, lengthening, as furry as her back. The tail pressed between her legs, the nylon shorts were so thin it was like nothing was separating them. Her fingers pressed hard against Emily's entrance, sliding up and down as she rocked forward onto the heel of her hand and then back. She pushed her free hand against the ground for leverage, changing the angle, fucking her harder. Emily was splayed in the dirt and pine needles, leaves and roots grating her body, but she wasn't complaining. She was moving under her, jerking against her hand, panting out rough sounds that ended in growls from deep in her chest. Emma could feel her body tense as she was about to come.

And this had gone way too far. Emma jerked away, pulling out of her trousers and sliding off her tail. She grabbed for a shirt, and got to her feet, then staggered. There was something wrong with her knees, like they wanted to bend the wrong direction. "Shit." She fell, and clambered up again, her knees appropriately oriented this time.

Emily rolled over, confused and helpless. "What?" It was like a ripple across water as the fur pulled back inside, up her arms and over her shoulders.

"I'm _sorry_." Emma turned and ran.


	6. Chapter 6

6

Emma couldn't get away from her scent. She couldn't run fast enough to forget the way she felt while touching her, petting her fur, nuzzling between her shoulder blades. She had never felt like that, like she couldn't have enough of touching someone, like touching someone was enough to bring her off.

She hated this, hated that whatever she did she couldn't control herself. She hadn't planned on finding her, but she had let her feet take their own path and they had sought her out, she had let herself laugh when Emily had been acting crazy, let herself comfort her. She had hated it when Emily had been ashamed of her beautiful fur, and she couldn't let her stay that way, and then it had gone too far, and fine, if she was the one who had made the decision she wouldn't have stopped it, she wouldn't have regretted it, but her body had made the decision for her and she was not okay with that!

She didn't go home that night. She didn't remember that night, except for anger and frustration and guilt, and cool air.

xXx

Emma had taken her shirt. Emily picked twigs out of her hair and pressed her face against the abandoned clump of sweaty tank top, breathing it in and trying not to cry. Her neck was raw and her fingers came away bloody, and she still had to fucking go back to _work_ that afternoon!

Jubilee spotted her trying to sneak back to her office, her hair down to hide the marks on her neck, the tanktop barely preserving decency. For once she wouldn't have minded the fur. From a distance it would have looked like she was wearing a black shirt, but between Emma fleeing and leaving her unsatisfied, and Emily managing to bring herself to get up, it had retreated back to just a trail running down the back of her neck, like a shadow. The student had given an amused wolf-whistle and then luckily let her crawl in through the window of her office in peace.

Miss Hartley walked in right as she was trying to do something about the open wound on her neck. Emma clearly did not hold back when she bit, and she had teeth like razors! The secretary gave her a sharp look.

"Sit," she said, then turned and walked back out. Feeling weak but sort of careless, as she was leaving tomorrow anyway, Emily obeyed. Miss Hartley came back with disinfectant and bandages, and started cleaning up her neck.

"Thank you."

Miss Hartley harrumphed.

"So you… you know?"

The secretary didn't answer. She just cleaned the wound and Emily winced at the sting.

"You're staying, I suppose," she finally stated. Emily stared at her, the words a heavy sledgehammer blow, or tried to, as Miss Hartley was keeping behind her and out of sight.

"What?" she asked weakly.

"She's marked you. Is she still denying that you're hers?"

She wasn't denying that. It was the reverse that was in question. Emily glanced down. How did she know all of this? But she had been there, for everything almost, every time Emily had rushed in, scattered and panicked, every time she had gotten angry. She had even brought her tea after Emma had fled her office, mouth kiss-bruised and scared. It was her St John's Wort tea, one of the few things that could calm her down. Tessa Hartley knew everything. She had arranged the temporary substitute counselor to fill in for the rest of the year. "I'm leaving tomorrow," she said, though she knew she knew it already.

"And when the bond calls you back?"

Emily jerked her head up. She had never heard it said like that before. "We're _not _bonded. She was very careful not to do anything she can't take back!"

Miss Hartley paused in her bandaging. "And you're just going to accept that?"

"What?"

Tessa looked at her with those same narrowed eyes that she always had used when Emily was about to be too lenient with a student, or turn everything upside down because someone had asked nicely. "You're just going to roll over and let her use you when she wants to and ignore you when she's too busy with her perfect life and perfect fiancé? I thought _you_ were the wolf."

"What right do I have?"

"You have _this_ right!" The secretary jabbed her wound fiercely. Emily yelped and felt her hackles rise up, the fur on her neck bristling. "She marked you. She came to you." She frowned, eyeing Emily suspiciously. "But you still feel like you coerced her. You feel like your _disease _coerced her."

Emily watched her nails turn dusky and sharp. "Didn't it?"

"You told your friend-" Tessa frowned. "The… interesting one, that it wasn't love. It was a biological bond, against your desire and against your will. Is that still true?"

Emily wanted to cry now. She hated crying. The wolf in her hated it more. "I just… I hoped that… I was so _happy_. I thought finally that maybe she had chosen me. I couldn't hold back feeling that way anymore. I just wanted it to be _okay_ for us. I'm so tired of being lonely. I've been lonely for my whole life and just for a moment it was possible, possible that I could have someone, something that I could _trust_. And she's _kind,_ and too pretty,and I want to bring her coffee, and touch her face, and make her laugh, and I want her to want me back. But if she doesn't I can't _make_ her."

Tessa gave her a hard look. "You need to discount your guilt for a moment. She's not the one who's being manipulated by her hormones. That's you. But you weren't the one who came to her. You weren't even the one who used her teeth. You didn't bite her, did you?"

Emily shook her head. But she was beginning to feel angry instead of sad. Perhaps she should have bitten her, given her a taste of what this felt like, how this ripped her apart.

"If you weren't sick, would she owe you an explanation for what she did today?"

Yes! Emily wanted to yell. "I was trying so hard to do what she said! I was staying away from her because _she_ told me to! I wasn't even loitering in the hall outside her classroom. _She_ came to me."

Why? The question hit her like a punch to the face. Why had she come? If nothing had forced her, than she had to have _wanted_ it. Emily understood feeling guilty for wanting something, but you couldn't take it and then give it back. Deny the pleasure or take the blame.

Miss Hartley smiled tightly. "You need to ask her what she's thinking, before you leave town forever. Perhaps, even, you need to take what's yours."

xXx

Peter wanted to do something nice for Emma. He knew she hadn't been feeling well and had been unhappy with him, for reasons that seemed unclear. He slipped into her house, pudding and movies in a bag, and readied things, doing a quick clean up, warming up some dinner.

She didn't come home when he expected her to, and she wasn't picking up her phone. He frowned, wondering where she could be. But perhaps she had an appointment that she had forgotten to tell him about. He put in one of the movies and watched it half-heartedly, glancing between the door and the clock more than at the screen. Unexpectedly, he fell asleep. He woke up groggy and miserable at three, to a blue screen, and dragged himself into Emma's bed.

In the morning she still wasn't home and Peter called the police.

"Did she say she was going to meet you?" the officer asked.

"I was going to surprise her."

The officer grunted as if to say, and now you caught her spending the night somewhere else, poor boy. It sucks to know you're not the only one. "It's too early, but we'll send someone over anyways, ask around."

A few minutes later Peter thought of the market on the corner. Maybe they'd have seen her recently. It was worth a try. He hurried out the door.

There was a woman leaning against the wall, facing away from him, looking tense and rather worried. He didn't recognize her, but she was pretty enough, dark hair, slacks and a jacket, with a bandage on her neck. He trotted down the stairs and she looked up, surprised.

"You smell like her."

Peter blinked. He had never been accosted by a crazy person before. "Um, sorry."

"You're her fiancé, aren't you?"

"You're talking about Emma? Yes," he said, suddenly threatened. "She's _my_ fiancée." He stepped forward a little, challenging the slight woman to question that.

She didn't. She bared her teeth instead, and Peter felt a sudden flush of fear before she was flying at him, growling, teeth, claws, and all he remembered after that was screaming.

xXx

Emma saw it happen. She had woken up in the woods, cold and confused, and hurried back to town. She was almost home when she saw Emily, tense and unhappy, clearly waiting for her, and she froze. She couldn't face it, asking her why she had done what she had done. She couldn't face her. And then Peter, worried and innocent of all of this, stepping out of her house, and spotting her. She watched the two halves of her life collide, not nearly as afraid as she should have been.

She didn't hear what they said, but she saw Peter feel threatened, saw him challenge her. And Emily didn't look like anything much, but she was so much stronger and more dangerous than she seemed. Peter spoke, and Emily's face contorted into an ugly inhuman scowl. And then there was blood, and screaming, and she ran. She ran towards them, needing to stop this, save them from what was entirely her fault. She had hardly taken three steps before a police car appeared, and screeched to a stop double-parked outside her house. Two officers jumped out. Emily whirled on them, dropping Peter, who crumpled like a rag doll, half woman, half fur, all claws. One grabbed her. The other pulled a tranq-rifle out of the car. Emma heard the shot, and dropped jarringly to her hands and knees. Two bodies lay slumped on the ground.

xXx

Peter looked awful, lying there, his face, arms and chest bandaged, and this was her fault. She had fought herself for too long, when there was no other choice, no way not to hurt someone, instead of just hurting him she had nearly gotten him killed.

"I'm sorry," she said, knowing he couldn't hear her. She slid off the ring and clenched it tightly in a fist. "You _told_ me, told me I shouldn't fight it, didn't need to fight it. But I could have, and it could have been okay. _We _could have been okay. I didn't though. I didn't _choose_. Not because I didn't know, but because of my stupid pride. I couldn't have you both and now I can't have _either _of you." She drooped, "_Fuck!_" She threw the ring. It clinked violently against the window and then dropped to the floor. She turned swiftly and walked out.

Emily was in a holding cell, drugged to the gills, and guarded at all moments by a policeman. She ducked through the station, trying to find her way there, and ran smack into Dr McCoy. He grabbed her arm when she tried to push past him.

"Stop," he hissed at her. "You shouldn't see her. You'll only rile her up."

"I _need_ to see her."

"You _can't_. You don't have permission." He gave her a cold look. "This didn't have to happen this way. I told her that she could stay in control. But you threw yourself at her. Do you think it matters if she finishes? It's about _scent_. You left her bound to you and helpless and walked away! No wonder she couldn't control her anger, no one could, not like that!" He grabbed her shoulders and shook them. "I wanted her to survive this!"

"Do you think I didn't?" Emma growled.

Dr McCoy's eyes widened. He grabbed her arm, shoving up the sleeve of Emily's stolen shirt and exposing the thick white fur just prickling up from her wrist. "You- you're positive too?"

Emma jerked her arm away. "Don't _touch_ me!"

"Are you medicating?" he asked, horrified.

"It's not a disease," she hissed, only half believing it herself. "It's a gift. I tried to fight it. I tried to throw it out. But I'm not going to drug myself sick because I'm afraid of it. I can control it, even if all that means is knowing when to let it control me."

"You can't walk around un-medicated!"

"I can and I will! Hundreds of carriers do it, like the student who bit me!" She should have been a carrier, she thought. She might have been, if it hadn't been for Emily. But carriers aren't immune from triggers. She could have never known.

"But you-" Dr McCoy seemed to realize something, something terrible. "When they send her away, you're already bonded. You could die. You _need_ to tell someone. They might take you with her."

"'_When'_? I thought there was going to be a trial?" The thought of volunteering to be shoved into a mental institution horrified her. But it made her sick to think of Emily there alone.

"She _attacked_ someone. Police officers pulled her off. If we're _lucky_ they'll send her to an institution." And not kill her, went unsaid.

"And they'll keep her full of drugs. Keep her inside."

Dr McCoy nodded. "Keep her away from you."

xXx

Emily was sitting in the dock, her clothes still dirty and stained with Peter's blood. There were hollows around her eyes that matched Emma's. She looked ratty and drugged and weak. Emma just hoped that she would have enough time. Emily's hands were cuffed behind her back, a guard standing tense at her side, but she didn't look strong enough to hurt anyone.

She sniffed the air once and glanced up, towards Emma, her eyes empty and yet begging. "I'm sorry," she mouthed, but Emma shook her head. It wasn't she who needed to apologize.

"She is a danger to herself and others. The State of New York requests remand."

It was a small arraignment in the small local courthouse, but these cases were thrilling to reporters. Emily's mother had sent a lawyer, who seemed to be more terrified of Emily than the prosecution, but she hadn't come herself. The reporters were snapping pictures, and interviewing each other. They were too afraid to approach Emily, Peter was still unconscious, and Emma just gave them a look that would make a grown man wet himself if they tried to talk to her.

"Counselor? Do you oppose the request for remand?"

"No," the idiot of a lawyer said. "Her mother would prefer it if the state would assist in keeping her from doing an injury to herself. It has become apparent that she has not been taking her medication, and she is not to be trusted independently."

Emma wanted to kill him, but that would be a waste of time. Right now everyone was focused on the bench, and she breathed out, letting the wolf take over. This was what she realized she could do last night, when she realized that she couldn't fight it, didn't want to fight it. There was nothing more real than this.

It wanted, so badly, to go to its mate, to mend her and comfort her, and it saw the threat that was this whole room, these stinking humans keeping them apart. She gathered herself and leapt, falling like a bomb from the balcony, a wolf landing on the prosecution table, scattering papers and pens under her paws. The young assistant DA screamed and fell over backwards. Emma lunged for the guard standing beside Emily and he jerked back, terrified of the teeth and of the disease they carried. She twisted into the dock, grabbing Emily's pant leg, tugging. Emily staggered to her feet, and then fell a little. Emma bit her leg harshly, and Emily howled, but it worked, she changed, her paws slipping out of the cuffs and they ran.

They burst out of the courtroom and loped through the halls, two wolves, one dark, one light. They charged past the stunned security guard, knocking him off his feet, and fled down the street towards the edge of town and the forest, leaving the sounds of pursuit far behind.

Emily was weak. The drugs made it hard to maintain the change, and they had only managed a few miles into the woods before she was staggering, half human on her hands, half wolf on two feet. Emma found a fallen tree and scrabbled away at the dirt, clearing out the burrow beneath it. She led Emily in, pushing her with her nose and tugging with her teeth when she hesitated, but she was too tired, too weak to resist, or question why, and she drooped into the burrow, on the cool moist earth, already fading. Emma tugged boughs in front of the opening, guarding it, from passing eyes, and then moved inside the darkness. She curled up, a hot furry mass on Emily's stomach.

Tomorrow, Emma thought, when the drugs had worn off, they would head into the mountains, get far away until she was healthy again. Then, who knew? Go back to a different town, a different city? Try to pass? Cross the border into Canada? Or stay in the forest, find a place outside of society. She would explain too, ask forgiveness for the lies she had told, for how she had been so stupid to fight this tooth and nail because she thought it wasn't real, thought that anything that strong, that overwhelming could never be real. But that was tomorrow. For now, at least, she could curl up in the dark little burrow and feel the heat of her mate's body against her own.

FIN


End file.
